“they’re landscaping a new
section at the local graveyard,
burning away all the
gnarled prairie grass
to lay a manicured carpet of sod
for the newly dead as if
they somehow know they’ll need the room,”
she said
face and body
lit in an un-consuming fire
spitting out of pores

all of her words
a bright red orange
she couldn’t see

and not just her, this whole town
all of them

i’ve never been anywhere else
but these people burn
all of their energy on the nothing
they create

a part of me needs to know
that they believe that
either secretly, or openly
as an explanation for all the anger
that consumes

roaring engines
burning at the stop lights

the belief that there must be
more than these

semantic metaphors for an excuse to exist

© Emerys Watchel, 2017 All rights reserved.


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